


your skin and bones will sink like stones

by jacyevans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Kate Argent/Derek Hale), (related to fire and previous sexual encounters), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Full Shift Werewolves, Gen, Hale Family Feels, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Past Underage, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, brief Derek/OFC and Derek/OMC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacyevans/pseuds/jacyevans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re strong. You’re a werewolf. You’re a <i>Hale,</i>” Laura says, like that’s the most important thing in the world. Derek takes a deep breath and lets the sense of pack settle deep into his bones.</p>
<p>The years chronicling Derek's life, from the fire to Laura's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your skin and bones will sink like stones

The day of the fire, Laura drags Derek away from school, eyes wild like he’s never seen them before. The sight immediately sends his pulse racing.

“Mom - the pack, we have to--”

Derek is out of the parking lot like a shot. Both of them run through the woods for home, stopping short at the sight of the house completely consumed by flames. The fire crackles and burns, and Derek swears he can still hear screaming from the basement.

He takes a stumbling step forwards, but the crack of a gun at his back makes him turn. He stares down the barrel into Kate Argent’s laughing face.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, sickeningly sweet, and his stomach twists, throat closing up, leaving him completely unable to move.

Laura shoves him out of the way as the gun goes off, rolling to the side so the bullet goes wide. She rips into her wolf form with a growl, eyes blazing red - red like their mother’s, like the _alpha,_ and Derek’s lungs seize so he can’t breathe. Laura nudges at Derek’s legs, and he flees, shifting mid-motion. They run full-tilt through the trees, Laura taking the rear, stinking of fear. His body thrums with the order to _run, run, run._

They don’t stop moving until the scent of smoke and burning timber fades, and Laura throws back her head and _howls,_ long, loud and mournful. Derek follows, the full moon bright and mocking. His body is torn in a dozen different directions, a physical pain he can’t shake.

His family, his pack, is dead.

Derek stays in wolf form for a week, a wild thing, growling at Laura when she gets too close. She drops to her knees at his side one night, cupping a hand under his chin. She grips him tighter when he growls.

“It’s time to change back,” she says, soft but with the rolling thrum of an order. He has no choice but to agree. She’s an alpha now, _his_ alpha.

He shifts back to human, Laura’s grip the only thing tethering him to earth. Her heartbeat is a steady thrum in her chest, and her eyes glow red even while she cries. She tugs him close, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she whispers, “I promise.” Derek clings tighter, wishing he could believe it.

They don’t stay in any one place for too long, surviving on the bare minimum of essentials, able to leave everything behind at a moment’s notice. Laura follows any news coming out of Beacon Hills; the fire is declared an accident, faulty wiring in the walls. She grits her teeth hard but has no way of proving the Argents set the fire. They’re too clever, too quick to cover their tracks.

The day the case is officially proclaimed closed, Laura spends the entire night prowling behind the house they rented on the edge of town. She howls and whimpers until Derek curls himself around her, both of them falling asleep under the light of the moon.

Laura withdraws all of her money, all of Derek’s, too. She leaves cash in PO boxes in half a dozen states, never uses a credit card or keeps a cell phone for more than a month. She insists on keeping their own names.

“We’ve already lost enough to the Argents,” she says, eyes flashing red as she signs her name on the lease to their new apartment with a flourish. “I am not losing _this.”_

Derek’s stomach churns, and he turns, rushing down the stairs into the street. He pulls in a lungful of fresh air. He hasn’t told Laura about Kate, how the fire is his fault, his absolute stupidity for thinking that she cared, that she could be trusted, that she wasn’t like the rest of her family. Laura would never forgive him, but that doesn’t make much of a difference. He’ll never be able to forgive himself.

Laura enrolls him in the local high school, and he spends a month pretending to be normal. He keeps his head down and all but blends into the dry wall. They cut their stay short when Laura catches the scent of hunters through their window - gunpowder, wolfsbane, the stench of adrenaline and satisfaction.

He glances down to find Chris Argent getting out of the car, his hand on the back of his daughter’s shoulder as he guides her into the apartment building. Kate sits in the back of Chris’ pick-up, twirling a silver knife between her fingers. They leave everything behind but the clothes on their backs, slip out in the middle of the night and run fast and far.

There are a few close calls, after that: Derek takes a taser blast to the side in Wyoming. Both of them are blown off course by the ear-splitting sounds of flash bombs in Ohio. Hunters dog their heels in Virginia; a shotgun fires, followed by Laura’s stunned cry.

Derek turns as the smell of blood rips through the night, Kate Argent’s laughter turning his veins to ice. He snarls as he takes her down, claws rending through the flesh of her thigh. He grabs her gun in his teeth, nipping at Laura’s heels, nudging her forwards faster.

They don’t stop moving until the scent of cordite and stale adrenaline fades into wet earth and pine, the bitter scent of terror, and the fiery, copper scent of Laura’s blood. She drags herself under the shade of a tree, breath coming in sharp pants.

Derek shifts back to human, scouring the ground for dry wood and kindling. He sets a fire as fast as possible, hands shaking. Sweat beads across his brow, and he swallows down bile as the air fills with the choking scent of smoke. The wood sparks then catches, and Derek stokes the flames until he’s sure the fire won’t go out.

He unloads the bullets from the gun, cracking one open against a rock. The cloying scent of wolfsbane fills the air, and Laura growls, whimpering as Derek gets closer.

Her shoulder oozes black blood, veins dark with the spread of infection. Derek grits his teeth and digs his claws into the wound, wincing with every shriek and howl that falls from his sister’s throat. He digs out the bullet and drops it to the ground, lights the wolfsbane on fire and packs it into the open wound.

Laura _screams,_ back bowing, claws tearing at the dirt. Derek can’t breathe. She falls back to the ground, panting, heart racing as fur recedes, shifting to new, pink skin stained red with blood.

Derek collapses against a tree. He scurries backwards when the fire crackles, sending up sparks. He covers his ears to shut out the sound of Kate laughing.

Laura is at his side at an instant, cupping his face in her hands. “Derek,” she says, and his heart beats jackrabbit quick, limbs tingling, vision going hazy at the edges. “Derek. _Breathe,”_ she orders, and he watches her chest rise and fall until he can drag oxygen into his lungs.

He drops his head, staring at the ground, chest still too tight; he _hates_ this, hates feeling this weak.

“You are not weak,” Laura says as if reading his mind – a distinct possibility at this juncture. She raises his chin so he can look into her eyes. “You’re strong. You’re a werewolf. You’re a _Hale,”_ she says, like that’s the most important thing in the world. Derek takes a deep breath and lets the sense of _pack_ settle deep into his bones.

After that, Laura teaches him everything she knows: tactical maneuvers and hunting strategy, using all of his senses to optimum advantage. She trains him like their mother trained her, like an alpha, and Derek shakes his head, resisting.

“You’re not dying, Laura,” he says, teeth clenched, claws digging into his palms as he turns his back.

She squeezes his shoulder, and he stiffens, expecting an order that doesn’t come. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says firmly, “but you need to know all of this. Just in case.”

“Why don’t you just order me?” he snaps, on the edge of a shift. His teeth press at his lips, growing sharp.

“Because you don’t want me to.”

“Never stopped you before.”

_“Derek,”_ she warns, and her voice carries the barest hint of power.

Derek takes a breath, forcing his fingers to unfurl, claws disappearing as he settles back in his own skin. “Okay,” he says, and he presses back into her hand. _“Okay.”_

\--

They continue across the country, coming down to New York through Buffalo. They travel on foot the entire way, following the sounds of the highway, shifting direction when they wander too close to another pack’s territory. Cars whiz past, mixing with the sounds of the wind through the trees. The air smells clean and fresh. Snow falls softly, covering the woods in white.

They chase down rabbits and deer, claws and teeth tearing through muscle and flesh. Laura licks the blood from her muzzle, and Derek huffs, walking ahead of her, skidding across the snow when she nudges at his heels. She hunches down, eyes narrowing, and Derek takes off running, paws grasping for purchase against the slippery ground, Laura hot on his heels. They used to play like this when they were younger, training exercises carefully disguised as a game of hide and seek or tag. He and Cora nipped at Laura’s flank until she tackled them to the ground, the three of them tumbling together in one happy mess of fur.

Laura barrels into him from behind, and he rolls onto his back and bares his belly. She nudges at his neck, licking his face. He shakes his head with a sneeze. She prances away and howls at the moon, her happiness bright and sweet.

They only shift back when they near the edge of the city, trees thinning into busy, suburban streets. They pass a black Camaro with a For Sale sign in the window. Laura drags her fingers through the snow on the hood, grinning as she leaves her scent behind.

Derek rolls his eyes.

The car belongs to an older gentleman, white hair peppering the gray at his temples. He leans on a cane, limping as he walks down the porch steps, and introduces himself as Lawrence.

“It was a gift for my son,” he says, gesturing to the car with the thick scent of grief; Derek and Laura exchange a glance. “Don’t have much use for it now.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want for it,” Laura says, soft and reassuring in a way Derek has never managed to master, but their mother was always so good at, too. She lets her fingers brush against the old man’s as they exchange cash for keys, veins going dark, then black. His brow furrows as his pain visibly recedes, but Laura simply asks about insurance and registration information. She gives him the address of their PO Box in Manhattan and takes the offered phone number, putting it in the hidden pocket of her backpack for safe keeping.

“You’re gonna have to dig yourself out,” he says apologetically. “There are shovels in the garage.”

Laura gestures to Derek with her chin. “Make yourself useful.”

Derek snorts, grabbing the shovels and shoving one at Laura as he passes by. The two of them make quick work of the snow, slowing down when Lawrence makes a comment that Laura has _quite the arm._

“Thought I heard howling last night,” he says, and Derek very carefully keeps moving, grunting as he digs up the snow. “Sounded like a pack of wolves.”

“There aren’t any wolves in this area,” Derek says firmly. Lawrence frowns but doesn’t comment further.

Laura grins into her shoulder.

The car smells of new leather and the chemical scent of fake evergreen. Laura wrinkles her nose, tossing the air freshener hanging on the rearview mirror into the trash. She rubs herself against the seat, and Derek arches an eyebrow.

“Do you and the car need a moment alone?”

Laura flips him off, tossing her jacket and her bag into the backseat. She cranks the windows down.  "I only did it to see that look on your face."

"What look?"

"That one." She scrunches up her nose, eyes crossing, lips pursed so Derek bursts out laughing.

The scent of the wild fades quickly once they get onto the highway. Earth and snow and pine fades into car exhaust and smog and metal, the press of too many bodies in too small a space, hearts beating, people talking, laughing, crying, the thumping, deafening baseline of music played too loud.

Derek closes his eyes, senses on overdrive. He feels like he did when he was a kid, when Peter took him and Cora to the movies for the first time, everything too bright and too loud and overwhelming. Cora threw up in the aisle.

Laura grabs his hand, pressing his fingers against her wrist so he can feel the steady but quick _thump, thump, thump_ of her heart.

“Focus on me,” she murmurs. She squeezes his fingers, and he takes a deep breath.

Laura gets them an apartment in Brooklyn, a five story walk up with a couch and several beat-up chairs left behind from the previous tenants. The view from their fifth floor apartment alone is supposed to be worth the absolutely _abhorrent_ price of the rent, and Derek stares out at the skyline, the stars in the clear sky blocked out by the bright, city lights. The full moon tugs on his bones, skin too tight, and his fangs descend in his mouth, fur rippling over skin as he lets the shift overtake him.

He digs deep furrows into the screen with his claws, growling at the musty scent of bleach, new carpet, and fresh paint, the next door neighbors playing their TV too loud, the traffic beneath their window, the sound of stomping feet and children’s speeding heartbeats, everything too much, overpowering.

He paws at the floor with a whine. Laura grips his shoulder, and he nips at her hand, pulling back against the wall, caged in from all sides. His ears press down against the side of his head, tail hanging between his legs.

“I know,” Laura says, going to her knees in front of him. She runs her fingers through his fur, arching an eyebrow. “You better plan on replacing that screen.”

Derek nudges his head under her chin, pressing his face into her chest. He lets her heartbeat drown out the rest of the world.

\--

Things don’t get much easier, but they do grow more tolerable. Laura reminds him of the exercises their mother took them through when they were children, when the hum of the world could be absolutely overpowering. _Focus on a single thing,_ she said, dragging her fingers through his hair, nails dragging across his scalp, _then try to spread your senses outwards._

Derek focuses on the trains roaring through the station, expanding his hearing to take in music blaring through a pair of headphones, a foot tapping against the ground. At home, he focuses on Laura’s heartbeat, on her fingers dragging through his hair, just like their mother.

There are more shifters than he was expecting in the big city, their smell a wild tang at the back of his throat. Acknowledgements are made with a brief glance across a crowded train platform, a subtle nod while passing in the street.

Derek paces the length of the apartment for the next three full moons, claws digging into the carpet.

“You tear up the carpet, and you’ll be the one explaining to the landlord why it looks like we let a mountain lion climb the walls,” Laura says from her spot at one of the stools at the kitchen counter. Derek bares his teeth.

She reaches out to one of the local packs after that, calling in a favor with one of the alphas that used to be acquainted with their mother. Kali eyes both of them with distaste. She and Laura engage in a stare-down that lasts a full minute, neither of them moving a muscle. Finally, Laura tilts her head back, displaying her throat in a graceful, practiced gesture that Derek remembers from his mother – not a sign of subservience, but of respect, a promise to do no harm.

Kali snorts, but she acknowledges Laura with a nod. “Stay away from the highways. The local kids like to get drunk in the woods and poke the animals with sticks, so go as deep as you can.” She smirks, a sly lift of her lips. “Howl if you get lost.”

“Pretty sure we can manage,” Laura says dryly, rolling her eyes when Kali strips off her clothes. She shifts mid-run, she and her pack taking off for the trees.

“Come on,” Laura says, and she grins. “Let’s run.” Derek kicks off his shoes, dragging his shirt over his head. He shoves his clothes in the trunk of a hollowed out oak tree, then lets the shift overtake him, arms and legs traded for a stronger, sleeker body. The rush of the hunt skitters under his skin, through his veins, and he yelps, the sound of Laura’s laughing bark at his back making him run even faster.

\--

They’re in New York a year before Laura brings up the idea of him going back to school.

She’s enrolled in med school at NYU, was just finishing up her last year of pre-med before the fire. She has a steady job at a hospital in the city, one that allows her to take off most full moons.

The months she can’t, he drives upstate and runs alone, avoiding Kali and her pack. He spends the night snapping at rabbits and squirrels and finds Laura in bed when he gets home, curled up on top of the covers, exhausted and cranky.

“I have a job,” he argues, and she huffs, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

“At the library. Conveniently located on the Columbia University campus.”

“I don’t even have my diploma,” he says, and Laura shrugs a shoulder, grabbing her computer with a grin. She cracks her knuckles, wiggling her fingers as she begins to type.

“We can fix that.” Derek rolls his eyes. She’s gotten frighteningly good at this since the fire, when it was still too dangerous to go back to Beacon Hills and start asking questions. She learned how to hack into law enforcement websites with ease, downloading file after file after file about the fire. The case has long since gone cold, but she gets obsessive sometimes, reviewing the same information over and over until Derek has to hide her laptop, disguising the scent of it with kitchen herbs or cleaning supplies.

The one time he stashes it in the back of his closet under their tiny stash of wolfsbane - kept in a well sealed bag, just in case - she goes absolutely ballistic, shifting in the middle of his bedroom and tackling him to the floor, eyes blazing, claws digging into his shoulders.

He doesn’t dare point out that she never orders him to give her computer back, doesn’t ever talk about these rare instances where she loses her control. It’s a fair trade, he figures - he still hasn’t told her about Kate.

Derek lets her doctor a diploma from the last high school he attended, putting in a request for his actual transcripts from Beacon Hills High and the six other schools he went to before the shitshow in Virginia.

He grits his teeth, hands clenching at the counter until his knuckles turn white. They haven’t heard a peep from the Argents in months, and while the peace is a welcome reprieve, both of them are on edge, waiting for the ax to fall.

He gets an admissions interview at Columbia, growing even more reserved when the counselor questions him about his transcripts.

“Military family?” he asks, and Derek shakes his head.

“There was a fire,” he says quietly, and the admission burns in his throat as acutely as the phantom scent of smoke. “My family died. My sister and I were the only ones who survived, and we’ve been—“ _running from a homicidal band of batshit-crazy hunters led by my psycho ex-girlfriend,_ “looking for work. We were finally able to settle down about a year ago.”

“See? I told you a sob story would work,” Laura says when his acceptance letter comes in the mail six weeks later, along with the offer of a partial scholarship and a tuition reduction, as long as he keeps working at the school. She kisses his cheek, squeezing his shoulder. Derek re-reads the letter, letting her pride wash over him, surrounding him from all sides.

\--

He meets Alexis two years into his degree, in his - of all things - pottery class.

Unsurprisingly, he’s terrible, only taking the damn class because he needs the elective credit and it’s the only thing that fits into his schedule. The first week, he comes home covered in clay, and Laura only bites back laughter until he shows her what’s supposed to be a bowl but looks more like a plate with warped sides.

She falls over herself cackling. Derek tackles her to the floor, smearing her face with clay.

“You are a terrible person,” he says, and Laura pouts, kissing the top of his head, still chuckling. He pokes her in the side.

Alexis comes to his rescue, showing him how to properly work the pottery wheel. She ties her hair away from her face and gets to work, biting back a grin when Derek completely fails at making a vase.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” she asks, brown eyes crinkling at the corners as she fights back laughter.

Derek huffs. “Is it that obvious?”

She raises an eyebrow and grins. “Only if you’re paying attention.”

She kisses him outside of the library after class, barely giving him a minute to call out sick before she tugs him across the street to her dorm. She slides his jacket from his shoulders, kissing his jaw as she drags his shirt over his head.

“Ho-ly shit,” she says, eyes wide when she pushes him onto his back on the bed, “You’re like a fucking model. How are you even real?” Her lips twist up into a smirk and Derek doesn’t answer, just drags her down until he can kiss her again.

She rides him hard and fast, head tilted back to display the line of her throat, heart thudding faster and faster. Her hair falls around her shoulders in dark blonde curls, nails digging into his sides, and Derek has to close his eyes to shut out the images of Kate that immediately come barreling to mind.

He comes home stinking of sex and shame. Laura takes one look at him and gives him a wink.

“Go take a shower, you little sex monkey,” she says, ruffling his hair on her way out the door, and he ducks her hand, rolling his eyes.

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until he gets the water running, has to stop and force himself to breathe past his pulse racing in his chest. He’s glad Laura is already gone, sure his heartbeat can be heard by any shifter for miles around.

He crashes onto the couch and sleeps for the rest of the day, waking only when Laura gets back from her shift. She frowns at him as she slips out of her jacket, but doesn’t ask any questions.

It’s the first time he wishes she would.

He tries again, making an effort to talk to one of the guys that he works with at the library. Matt spent the better part of the semester shooting Derek subtle glances and soft smiles, quiet but for his scent, overlaid with the tang of arousal. He's built like a linebacker, dark hair buzzed close to his head - not Derek’s type at all, but so far from anything like Kate that Derek still tugs him into the stacks at the end of the night while they're getting ready to lock up.

"Jesus Christ, finally," Matt says when Derek pushes him against the wall and kisses him, hands sliding up the back of Derek's shirt. The kiss tastes like ashes in his mouth. "Been sending you signals for weeks."

Derek chuckles, mouth pressed against his neck so Matt’s pulse beats against his lips. Everything is fine, absolutely perfect -

Then, Matt turns them around, pushing Derek against one of the shelves, hemming him in. He opens Derek's jeans with sure, deft fingers, hand sliding under the waistband of his boxers to grip his cock.

Derek flips them around too fast and slams Matt against the stacks too hard, heart racing in his chest. Matt’s eyes widen. He stinks of fear.

"Dude," Matt says, and he slowly pulls his hands back, holding them up like he's warding off an attacker. Or a wild animal. "You okay?"

Derek steps back and drags a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to growl. No. No, he's not. "Fine," he says, closing his eyes. He pulls back enough that Matt can slip out of his grasp. Derek listens to his footsteps disappear up the stairs, heartbeat betraying him, just a little too fast. He leans his head back against the wall, gritting his teeth together.

He's running in Central Park when he meets Ava. Two days after the full moon, and Derek still feels wired with the heady rush of power under his skin. He has to remind himself to keep his pace slow and steady, to not take off and pass every person on the street.

A woman keeps pace with him, easily meeting him stride for stride. She smells of lilac shampoo and the spicy-sweet scent of a werewolf. Derek keeps his gaze straight ahead. He stops at the Great Lawn, pausing long enough to pretend to catch his breath before flopping down in the grass. He's far enough in the park that if he closes his eyes, he can pretend he's not in the city, that he's still in the woods far away from here.

He doesn't move except to open his eyes, wary and cautious when the werewolf sits down at his side. She flicks red hair over her shoulders, sunglasses dark enough that Derek can’t see her eyes.

“Fancy meeting someone like you here,” she says, crossing her legs at the ankle.

Derek can’t help but snort. “Does that opening ever work?”

“You’re talking to me, aren’t you?” She tugs her sunglasses down her nose to give him a glance of blue eyes dancing beneath delicate, arched brows. Her eyes flicker, yellow bleeding into the iris before fading away.

She rolls her eyes when Derek still doesn’t move, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m not going to bite, you know.” She winks. “Unless you want me to.”

Derek laughs outright, shaking his head. “Your pick up lines need work.”

“Baby, I’m an open book.” She grins, heartbeat honest and steady, but he’s been fooled by a heartbeat before.

He takes a deep breath, rolling his eyes and shoving his hands in his pockets when they shake. Still, it’s… nice. To hold a conversation with someone that isn’t his sister who he can at least be somewhat honest with, to not have to pretend to be human. He’s forgotten what it’s like, being around another werewolf who isn’t family, someone who can read every subtle shift in his scent and breathing patterns as well as he can read theirs.

When she stands up and holds out her hand, Derek lets her drag him to his feet. She takes him back to her apartment, where he fucks her slow and sweet, the way Kate never wanted.

She catches the way his heart skips a beat and grips his hip, stilling his motions. She draws her hand down his face with a frown. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

Ava purses her lips, kissing the edge of his jaw, sharp teeth catching on his skin. “Whoever she was? She didn’t deserve you. And whatever happened wasn’t your fault.”

Her words seep under his skin, and Derek kisses her until he stops thinking about anything but the taste of sweat and salt on her skin, her claws dragging down his spine, the sound of her heart racing in her chest.

\--

Derek graduates with honors with a pre-law degree, and his sister is so damn happy, she could burst. He finally believes her when she says that everything is going to work out, that they’re going to be okay.

Then, Laura gets wind of further news about the fire, something she didn’t know before that she has to go in person to investigate. Something is tugging her towards Beacon Hills, she says, pulling her towards California like the full moon tugs at their bones.

Derek begs her not to go, pleading even while she packs her bags. “We already know it was the Argents,” he says, getting in her path as she heads for the door. “Just... leave it alone.” Laura kisses his forehead, pushing past him into the hall. Derek grabs her shoulder, yanking her back. “Then take me with you. _Please,_ Laura.”

Laura takes a breath, cupping his chin in her hand. “Stay. Here,” she says, and Derek tries to fight the order, stomach swooping, fists clenching, body shaking until he finally takes a step back into the apartment and away from her hand, gritting his teeth.

She smells of regret, bitter on the back of his tongue. “I’m taking the car,” she says, twirling the keys around her finger. She swallows, tugging him into a hug. Derek clings to her with all of his might. “I’ll be back soon, Derek,” she whispers against his ear, “I promise.”

Derek watches as she walks away, until she disappears down the stairs, ignoring the absolute terror settling into the pit of his stomach.

Laura keeps in contact as much as she can, never staying on the phone for long. She says she’s on to something, something important, won’t say more until she has more information, doesn’t want to risk the wrong people finding out.

He’s in the middle of the street when he the ground drops out from under him, stomach heaving so violently, he throws up in the gutter. He bolts for his apartment, ignoring the people calling at his back, asking if he’s okay.

He heads straight to Laura’s room, locking the door and trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t bother to turn on the light.

“Laura,” he gasps, claws digging into his scalp as he grabs his head, searching for the bond between him and his alpha, his pack, his sister - the one that’s broken, frayed at the edges, nothing but a dark, empty void on the other end.

He grips the edge of her dresser so hard, the wood breaks away, turning to powder under his fingers. He’s terrified to look in the mirror. He doesn’t want to see red eyes, doesn’t want to be the alpha, not if it means Laura is dead.

Somehow, he finds the strength to lift his head.

His eyes glow red in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the wonderful, fantastic [thatworldinverted](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thatworldinverted/pseuds/thatworldinverted) for the beta and for her encouragement <3
> 
> This is the first fic in a series. Title from "Your Bones" by Of Monsters and Men. If you think I missed any warnings, please let me know so that I can add them into the tags.
> 
> Feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](http://seaboundandaimless.tumblr.com).


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